


Discussing Terms

by mydeira, Sadbhyl



Series: Responsible Adults (aka, The Menageaverse) [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-08
Updated: 2012-02-08
Packaged: 2017-10-30 20:01:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/335524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydeira/pseuds/mydeira, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sadbhyl/pseuds/Sadbhyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Giles and Joyce figure out just exactly what it is that they have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Discussing Terms

**Author's Note:**

> Written by Sadbhyl. Beta'd by Mydeira.

Giles sat at his desk, pouring over his current research project. It was busy work mostly, since they now knew the identity of the commando units. Buffy could probably just ask Riley most of the questions Giles was looking into. But he had nothing better to do with his time, and it might be important later on. He was surprised to find rumors of this kind of paranormal paramilitary going back as early as the first and second World Wars.  
  
He was jotting down some quick notes when the phone rang. He answered without looking up. “Hello?”  
  
“Hello, Rupert,” a light alto voice came through the line. “This is Joyce.”  
  
“Hello, Joyce.” He felt his heart speed up and his groin tighten at the sound of her voice. “How are you?”  
  
“I’m fine,” she replied, sounding breathy but upbeat. “Buffy said you’d been hitting the books hard lately, so I wondered if you would be interested in coming for dinner tomorrow night?”  
  
Dinner with Buffy and her mother? Less than a week after he and his arch rival had shagged said mother six ways from Sunday? That would be interesting. But it would be . . . nice. To get to see Joyce again. “That sounds lovely. What should I bring?”  
  
“Just a bottle of red wine and yourself. Tomorrow around eight?”  
  
“I’ll be there.”  
  
“Wonderful. I’ll see you then.”  
  
He hung up the phone, surprised at how light his heart felt.

***

He rang the doorbell five minutes before eight, and was surprised when Joyce answered herself. “Rupert, come in!” She smiled brightly, holding the door for him.  
  
“These are for you.” He offered her the bouquet of tulips, looking around for Buffy.  
  
“They’re lovely! Thank you.” She kissed his cheek and turned to head back toward the kitchen, leaving him to shut the door.  
  
He followed her, standing in the kitchen doorway to admire her as she filled a vase with water for the flowers. She was dressed simply in an off-white sleeveless cashmere sweater and a matching skirt that clung to her soft curves. A brown leather belt cinched in her waist and matched the delicate sandals on her feet. Gold hoops hung from her ears and three strands of fine gold chain looped around the high collar of her sweater to complete the outfit. She looked stunning.  
  
“So where is Buffy?” he asked, not wanting to be caught ogling his Slayer’s mother.  
  
Joyce turned, the now full vase in her hands and a look of surprise on her face. “You’re more likely to know that than I am these days. At school somewhere, I presume, or out patrolling.”  
  
“She’s not joining us?”  
  
Joyce fidgeted with one of the flowers. “Are you disappointed?”  
  
“No! No,” he repeated, the softer words accompanied by a smile. “Not at all. It will be nice to have an evening of adult conversation.”   
  
Her smile lit her eyes. “Good. Now, why don’t you open the wine, and I’ll get the food on the table.”  
  
Dinner was simple but delicious, grilled steaks with mushrooms and onions, baked potatoes and a green salad. It was made better by the comfortable conversation. They discussed Buffy briefly (Joyce was surprised to hear about the new boyfriend), but quickly moved on to talk about the gallery and art in general, about music and Giles’ plans to sing at the coffee house, which Joyce encouraged. They comfortably argued politics, although they actually were fairly close to each other in their philosophies, so they ended up mostly agreeing on the shortcomings of the current crop of presidential hopefuls. The food was long gone and most of a second bottle of wine as well before they declared the meal complete. Joyce divided the last of the wine between their glasses and rose, taking their empty plates with her. “Why don’t you take the wine into the living room, and I’ll get dessert.”  
  
He rose as well. “At least let me help you clear away.”  
  
“No, just let it sit. I’ll clear up later. Go on in, I’ll be right there.” And she disappeared into the kitchen.   
  
Taking up the balloon goblets, he made his way into the living room. This was nice. He didn’t often get to spend social time alone with Joyce. She was a stimulating conversationalist, an entertaining companion. And after last week . . . Well, he couldn’t go there. But it was pleasant to not be written off and sent back into his asexual shell.   
  
A small fire burned low on the grate in the fireplace. Taking up the poker, he tended it gently, adding logs from the stack waiting nearby. The flames caught quickly at the dry wood and flared, casting an amber glow around the room.  
  
Joyce came in through the back, bearing a tray with coffee cups and a carafe as well as two pieces of cheesecake. “I’m a cheesecake purist,” she said, kneeling down to place the tray on the hearth. “I hope you don’t mind.” She offered him up a plate.   
  
“Not at all.” He took it, then crouched to sit next to her on the floor. “I prefer it that way myself.”  
  
She watched him quietly as they ate, her gaze intense, her lips and tongue carefully cleaning all the creamy white custard off the tines of her fork with each mouthful. It reminded him of the sight of her licking Ethan’s come off her lips . . . He broke away, dropping his eyes back to his plate. Did she even realize what she was doing? What it was doing to him? He fought for self-control, trying to ignore what was going on below his belt. The same belt that had bound her elegant wrist to his headboard while he and Ethan . . .   
  
Bloody hell.  
  
Whether or not Joyce noticed, she seemed to take pity on him, setting her plate aside to turn and face him. “I thought maybe we should have a chance to talk. About last week.” She spoke hesitantly, but seemed more concerned with his reaction.  
  
He set his plate back down on the tray as well. “I see.”  
  
“I mean, we did such a good job sublimating after the first time we were . . . together,” she bent her head to pick at something on the rug, “I’m sure we could do that again.”  
  
“Most probably.” Not bloody likely.   
  
“But I’m not sure I want to.”  
  
What? He looked up at her in surprise.  
  
She met his gaze bravely. “I’ve been divorced for almost six years. And even before that, relations with Hank were . . . well, distant is the polite word for it. I’d forgotten about this whole part of me that takes chances, that likes new experiences, that’s not afraid all the time. That first time, with you, it just reminded me. But of course that wasn’t real, that was just the candy, it wasn’t really us. And then last week . . .”  
  
“Was undeniably us.”  
  
She nodded. “And I did things I never would have thought a woman my age could. And I loved it.” She met his gaze, and he saw her eyes were dark. “I was connected for the first time in a long time. I don’t know that I want to give that up.”   
  
He removed his glasses thoughtfully, resting his knuckles against his lips, searching for the right words before setting the lenses on the dessert tray, turning to face her directly. “You weren’t the only one. To feel connected. It was . . . a powerful evening.”  
  
She blew out a shuddering breath and smiled. “Well, that’s good to hear. I was worried I was alone here.”  
  
“No.” He took her hand and stroked his thumb lightly across her knuckles. “You’re far from alone. I just didn’t want to presume. . .”  
  
She nodded. “I understand. But I couldn’t let this pass me again.”  
  
“So what do we do now?”  
  
“I’m not sure. I am enough of a realist to not see hearts and flowers in our future. I think we have too much history. But maybe . . . what is it the kids are calling it? Friendship with privileges?”  
  
Giles smiled. “Xander’s girlfriend called it ‘orgasm friends’.”  
  
Joyce laughed. “Well, that’s pretty succinct. But yes, that about covers it.”  
  
He lifted her hand and kissed her fingers gently. “Would that be enough for you?”  
  
She ran a gentle hand over his head. “I won’t stop looking for the hearts and flowers. And you shouldn’t either. But in the in-between times . . .” She leaned forward and softly lay her lips on his, coaxing his mouth open slowly to explore gently. His hand came up to toy with the soft fall of curls that framed her face as he lost himself in her kiss.  
  
When the kiss ended, he drew back, fingers still twisting around a lock of her hair. “And what about Ethan?” he asked, his voice hoarse and deep.  
  
She dropped her eyes. “Ethan’s . . . attentions wouldn’t be unwelcome. Singly or in concert.” She lifted her eyes, unsure. “Are you appalled?”  
  
“No.” He reached up and took her chin in his thumb and forefinger, lifting her face to look him squarely in the eye. “That wasn’t appalling, it was incredibly brave. And you were right, the other night.” He let his hand drift down the bare skin of her arm. “When you said it was more than a good time with he and I. You don’t have the kind of history we share without ties remaining, however much we might try to sever them. But when we’re together, we go to a very dark place. Which is why I’ve stayed away from him as much as possible over the years.”   
  
She reached up to cup his cheek. “I’m not afraid of the darkness. I trust you to take care of me. And I trust him, too, at least with my body.”  
  
“Don’t.” He caught her hand, squeezing lightly to get her full attention. “He can be an entertaining lover, I’ll grant you, and I can’t deny you that if that’s your pleasure. But he’s indiscriminate about his partners, and no matter how attached he may seem, he’ll sell you out in an instant if it serves his interests. Don’t ever, ever trust him.”  
  
She cocked her head and looked at him with an expression he was all too familiar with from Buffy. The one that said _I hear what you’ve said, but I’m more interested in something else_. “You think he’s attached?”  
  
He sighed and rolled his eyes, smiling. “I know for a fact that he holds you in very high regard.”  
  
Her cheeks flushed as she grinned shyly. “Not that it makes any difference, I suppose. I doubt we’ll see him again.”  
  
“He’ll be back.” Giles bent his head to stroke his lips lightly along the tender skin just in front of her ear. “What man that’s had you once could stay away?”  
  
He felt her tense slightly and looked up to see brief but ineffable sadness in her eyes. Once again the expression of the daughter mapped verbatim on the mother. He gripped her shoulders and bent to look her in the eye. “Hank Summers was no real man, to run out on you and Buffy, two of the strongest, most amazing women I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing. He was a prancing git, and you’re both well rid of him.” He saw the doubt, the insecurity linger in her eyes, and did the only thing he could think of.  
  
This kiss started as gently as the last, but the passion of it quickly flared. She rose up on her knees to bring them level, wrapping her arms around his neck as their mouths indulged in one another. He released her as her slender hands pushed at the collar of his blazer, and he shrugged out of it to cast it aside, quickly sending her belt to join it. He felt her fingers weave through his fine hair as his own hands skimmed under the hem of her sweater, searching for her. She sucked in a breath as he first made contact with bare skin and sighed it back into his mouth as he coasted over the velvet softness of her back.   
  
Giles pulled back to look into her passion dark eyes. “Maybe we should take this upstairs?”  
  
“Mmm. Maybe we should.” She began working his turtleneck out of his waistband. “Later.” And she captured his mouth again.   
  
If the lady wanted to be ravaged on the living room carpet, so be it.   
  
He caught the hem of her sweater in both hands and lifted it off in one smooth motion, leaving her in a soft ivory lace bra and the simple chains about her neck. Her tawny skin glowed in the dancing firelight, as burnished as the gold in her jewelry. He lowered his mouth to her shoulder, tracing along her collarbone as he reached around her to deftly unhook the catches of her bra, pulling it away as he rose up to look at her again. Her breasts were as enticing as he recalled, full and heavy, dark roseate nipples tightening into tempting distractions. “Beautiful,” he breathed softly.  
  
Joyce blushed, a soft, ruddy tone that covered all her skin. But she said nothing, instead copying his actions by pulling his shirt off over his head. He ducked his head, helping her to pull through the tight collar and dropped his arms out of the sleeves. She cast the knit shirt aside and sat back to admire him, reaching out to brush the palm of her hand lightly over the coarse hairs spread over his chest and down his belly. He hissed lightly as she slid her fingers back up closer to his skin, tangling and tugging through the strands. “You are, too,” she said simply.   
  
He gathered her close, indulging in the comforting sensation of skin on skin as they let their mouths continue the seduction. Slowly he pressed her back to lay on the rug, covering her body with his as their mouths lingered over each other, his fingers threading through her hair to guide her head. Giles tipped her face to the side to begin exploring the length of her neck and curve of her shoulder, enjoying her sudden jerk as he nipped behind her ear. He kissed tenderly at the faint scar that lingered at the base of her throat, a reminder of her first direct encounter with his world. Even after all this time, it was still sensitive.   
  
She sighed softly as his hands cupped her breasts, his mouth lipping gently over the firm flesh as he moved down her body. He ran the flat of his tongue over one nipple and blew on it lightly, reveling in Joyce’s throaty “Oh!” and the sight of it tightening even further. He nipped and suckled at it, not too rough, but not too gentle either, and was rewarded by the feel of her hips moving in time to his tongue, offering desperately needed friction against his own throbbing cock. He repeated the action on her other breast until she was mewling, clutching at his shoulders as she humped against his hip. He rose up and hooked his hands, clawlike, into the elastic waist of her skirt, catching her underpants as well as he pulled them down and off of her, leaving her beautifully naked in the firelight. He didn’t know where her shoes were, or when she’d kicked them off. He knelt back down, rubbing his cheek against the inside of her thigh, the friction of the shadow of his beard coarse on her sensitive skin. But when he moved closer to her center, she stopped him.  
  
“Not now,” she begged, her voice rough with desire. “Later. Right now I just want to feel you inside me.”   
  
That gave him pause. “Joyce, I didn’t expect . . . I don’t have . . .” His brain was misfiring at the sight of her, supine and open to him, and from the weight of his own need. But it wasn’t . . . they couldn’t . . .  
  
She smiled voluptuously. “In the box, on the mantle.” She pushed him gently.  
  
He rose to his feet and found an ornate African inlaid box on the mantle. Opening it, he discovered three foil squares. “Being optimistic?”  
  
She shrugged and wet her lips. “Hopeful. Very, very hopeful. Now get undressed and get back here. I’m cold.”   
  
“We mustn’t have that.”   
  
With a deft hand, he released his buckle and trousers, skinning them and the boxer briefs underneath down and kicked them aside. She was watching avidly, and he found he enjoyed the attention, so he made quite a show of stroking his cock with one hand as he tore open one wrapped packet, adding the condom to his hand play, her soft moans of encouragement adding to the stimulation. Finally he could resist no longer and knelt in front of her.  
  
She spread her legs wide for him, wrapping one hand around his neck to draw him closer, taking his stiff length in her other to guide him in. “Joyce,” he groaned as he made contact with the snug muscles of her channel, the warm liquid muscles wrapping around his head.  
  
“Please, Rupert,” she begged. “I need you so much.”  
  
“I’ll take care of you, sweet. Don’t you worry.” And slowly, implacably, he bore down, driving deep inside of her.  
  
“Oh my god!” Her cry was deep and resonant, and he felt it all along his shaft.  
  
“Does it feel good?” he murmured in her ear as he established a slow, deep rhythm. “Is that what you needed? Tell me, Joyce, how does that feel?”  
  
“’S good, Rupert, oh god it’s so good . . .” She arched into his strokes, encouraging him to move faster, harder, deeper. He obliged her, wrapping his arms under her shoulders to hold her close and keep her from sliding across the coarse rug.   
  
“You feel bloody marvelous,” he grumbled in her ear. “All tight and soft and eager. I’m glad you want this. I’ve wanted you for so long . . .”   
  
She silenced him with her mouth, whimpering her pleasure down his throat as she invaded with her tongue in mirror image of what he was doing to her with his cock. He felt his release tighten, felt her breath hitch as he gathered her ass in both hands and lifted her to meet his thrusts. She wailed and tensed, clutching at his arms as her whole body went rigid. But he couldn’t stop, didn’t stop, and moments later his own climax shuddered through him, spilling out in waves of pleasure as he collapsed on top of her.  
  
Their sweat slick bodies glistened in the firelight, the only sounds in the room their own soft sighs and gasps as they came back to themselves. Giles rolled over, drawing Joyce into his arms. She tangled her legs with his and rested her head on his shoulder, her arm draped over his waist. With one last deep cleansing breath, she said contentedly, “Nice privileges.”  
  
He chuckled and kissed the top of her head, nestling against her hair. An uncomfortable chill reminded him that he wasn’t quite done. He reached down and slipped the condom off his now slack cock, gave it a gentle twist and cast it into the fire. “Hate those things.”  
  
She gave him an appeasing hug. “Well, until we come up with something better, you’ll keep using them. I don’t think Buffy would appreciate a little brother or sister at this late date.”   
  
He lifted her chin to kiss her mouth gently. “I’ll get tested,” he said, his words soft but intent. “It’s past time, anyway. And you . . .?”  
  
“I’m clean. Once I found out Hank had been cheating on me, I got tested and tested and retested. I still get checked every year. Five down and five to go.” She sighed, and then shrugged. “But on the bright side, they have something now that they didn’t have in the seventies. This nifty shot that will keep the babies away.”   
  
He looked down at her. “Been doing research, have you?”  
  
She rolled her eyes. “I have a teenage daughter. I studied up on all the contraception options. Of course, I neglected to consider the possibility that she might date a vampire, making it all moot.” “Date a . . . Oh, you mean Angel.”  
  
“Why? Is there another one she’s dating?”   
  
“Oh lord, I hope not. I have a difficult enough time with her over Spike, and she despises him. She’s as stubborn about her lovers as you are.”   
  
She laughed, a sweet throaty sound, and rose to her feet. “You may be glad of that one day.” She offered him her hand. “Come on.”  
  
He took her hand and stood up as well. “Where to?”  
  
“I think you said something about upstairs?”  
  
He smiled. “I did. Should I . . .” He gestured toward the box on the mantle.  
  
“No need. I have a whole box upstairs.”  
  
“More hope?”  
  
She grinned wickedly. “A sure thing. I hoped if we made it to the living room, we might need them. I knew if we made it to the bedroom we would.”   
  
He pulled her to him, enjoying the feel of her muscles against his skin. “And if we hadn’t made it out of the dining room?”  
  
She kissed him, a long, slow, decadent kiss that she put her whole body into. “I had one in my pocket, just in case.”


End file.
